You’ve probably already read some articles surrounding the sale of Larry Racek’s lifetime accumulation of farm equipment which actually spanned generations of their family. You’ve heard details about this incredible collection, the amazing amount of bidder’s numbers sold, and the superb way in which the Stock’s handled everything. You’ve even seen a wonderful aerial photograph thanks to Ray; what a nice keepsake of an amazing piece of Morse Bluff history, thanks again Ray Stranik!

I had decided earlier in the week that I had to go, I just felt it necessary to be a part of it. So I called the ladies of the Morse Bluff American Legion Auxiliary and begged them to let me work at their food stand. Funny thing is; they were more than happy to accommodate me, imagine that.

I was there a little late; around 0745 and after a few attempts was told where I could and couldn’t park. I pulled up to the house and I had to ask Jerrine where the ladies were setting up shop. She motioned behind me: “They’re up in the machine shed, at the top of the hill, it’s kind of muddy.” I thanked her, walked around my car and right then and there decided that my old tennis shoes were probably not the best choice of foot wear for the day as I checked out the lane leading up to where all the action was about to take place.

I could feel the excitement in the air as I made my way to the massive shed, which by the way, I had no idea was back there behind the trees all these years, not to mention all of that equipment. I think most people who live around here felt the same way. Every person I met was on a mission and all was coming together in precise form. There were familiar faces everywhere, even at that early time, busy getting ready for the main event. They were wet, cold, and mud soaked from the knee down; but they were all willing and eager to help out. The Morse Bluff Auxiliary had the food stand set up long before I got there and we just had some last minute things to do before everything got rolling. The skies were dark and cloudy but that didn’t dampen the spirits of the people running around the Racek farm that early Friday morning.

Jerrine’s beautiful rendition of the National Anthem which kicked off the bidding, seemed to make the rising sun shine even brighter and in spite of the previous night’s rain, it turned out to be a beautiful morning, perfect by anyone’s standards. I watched as the trucks and trailers began to fill the lush, green alfalfa field to the south of the yard. Farmers were lining themselves up without any direction, just their normal sense of orderliness and respect to guide them. I’m sure it has somehting to do with that pride in a straight, furrowed row as they look back after each pass in their fields. From our view out the south side of the machine shed; it seemed as if people were just randomly walking up from all directions. Their boots and over boots heavy with mud, some succumbing to the sticky coolness, but not letting it faze them, they just picked themselves up, wiped their hand off on the clean spots, and kept on pushing until they reached the auctioneer’s van to secure their numbers.

In spite of the fact that they hadn’t hiked that far in a long while, folks still showed in great numbers. Every farmer, including those that wished they still were; turned out from miles around just to get a peek at the tractors of their past, if not to vie for the chance to own one once again.

Some women showed in total contrast to their appropriately-clad husbands, with Spring suitable open-toed sandals and white pants. I remember thinking; “If that were me, I’d be carrying 5 pounds of the muck just between my toes”; but somehow these ladies remained in their pristine form. Most of the women came from the farm in their work boots and flannel, promptly after chores I imagine. Their small children bundled similarly on their’s and their husband’s hips. The older kids with their too tall, brightly-colored, rubber boots and overly large farm caps with the bill pressed to a curl, dressed to match Dad as best they could. Sheer joy shown on their faces due to the fact that Mom didn’t care, just for today, that they were getting delicioulsly covered in mud.

The talk of tractors between farmers, and the: “When I was a kid, son…..” conversations that could be overheard throughout the day are irreplaceable memories for me and add to the long list of reasons I came back to live in this wonderful place.

The lunch stand was the best place to meet and greet folks. There truly were people from all over the United States; I even met a guy who had never heard of kolaches! Fortunately, Nadine had donated several hundred for the sale and this “kolache virgin” was able to sample the World’s Best right off the bat; we heard no complaints I assure you. The smell of sloppy joes is always a good draw for any food stand and they flowed in steady all day, each with a happy greeting, a healthy appetitie, and most folks had a kind word of thanks as they left us.

The afternoon came to a close as the new owners took turns pulling their flatbeds, trailers, and trucks up to the top of the hill to claim their “winnings”. The farmers I saw were grateul that the walk back to their trucks, which were parked along the highway, was downhill. They were full and exhausted but smiling. The sun was just warm enough on our backs to guide a perfect day and a memorable farm sale to a perfect end in our small corner of the world.

—North Bend Eagle 10 April 2007